


Kiss me, I'm Irish ☘

by startswithhope



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, Smut, St. Patrick's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-17
Updated: 2017-03-17
Packaged: 2018-10-06 18:00:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10341177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/startswithhope/pseuds/startswithhope
Summary: Just a little smutty Friends to Lovers (with no pining!) fun for St. Patrick's Day!





	

She almost choked on her green beer as her best friend’s feet came up off the ground as the burly, flanneled lumberjack (well, big guy in flannel shirt) at the bar planted a smacking kiss right on those unsuspecting lips. She’d told Killian what would happen if we wore that shirt, but he didn’t listen. Emma’s laughter is lost in the packed pub filled to the brim with St. Patrick’s Day revelers, but she knows Killian hears it, his telltale eyebrow lifting as Paul Bunyan releases him and gives him a jovial pat on the back.

“You had to know that would happen at some point, lad.”

“Aye, mate...sláinte!”

Emma shakes her head at Killian’s seemingly unflappable facade, watching as he shares a big grin and a toast with his kissing buddy at the end of the bar. But as he makes his way back to her she can see the signs of his mild embarrassment in the red glow of his pointy ears to the sheen of sweat at the hollow of his throat.

“Regretting that shirt yet?”

“Why Swan? That was the best kiss I’ve had all night.”

She scoffs at that, remembering the handsy brunette that had backed him against the wall at the last bar, practically shoving her tongue down his throat as he tried, half-heartedly, to hold her at bay. Emma had told him that shirt would get him laid, even if he wasn’t actually Irish, but with his English accent and those eyes, they both knew it wouldn’t really matter. She never thought of Killian being into guys, but hey, big and burly just might be more his type? Not really, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t going to tease the hell out of him all night.

“Perhaps you should go tell _him_ that? I have a feeling he’d be open to another round.”

Killian smirks and flashes a friendly grin over his shoulder at the lumberjack, but slides back into his stool at Emma’s side.

“Nah, I like to leave them wanting more. Besides, you and me, we are long overdue for some whiskey.”

Emma feels a rush of warmth she can’t really place as Killian flags down the bartender, but she assumes it must just be from the crowd (and the ridiculous amounts of alcohol they’ve already consumed). As she struggles to get out of her leather jacket, she feels familiar fingers brush the back of her neck and smiles as Killian helps her free her arms, his stealth-like gentlemanly abilities a superpower he is inordinately proud of. His hand brushes her knee beneath the bar as he gropes for the hidden hook to hang her jacket and there’s that wave of heat again, this time with an added flip of something deep her in belly.

Two shots of Jameson are dropped on the waxy wood and she finds herself thankful, as drowning whatever was happening with her right now in alcohol seems to be a pretty damn good idea. She can feel Killian’s eyes on her as she slams the shot down her throat, but she just scrunches her nose at him as she shivers at the expected burn.

“Well done, love. Should I order you another?”

Her fingers reach over and cover his on his still full shot glass and he doesn’t resist as she slips it from his grasp.

“Nah, this one’s good.”

What was that voice she just used? And why is she leaning so close? Even more important, why is her best friend looking at her like she’s just offered to do something indecent?

Killian’s mouth has fallen open slightly and his eyes are planted firmly on her lips and she can’t seem to stop herself from poking the tip of her tongue out to lick a drop of whiskey from the rim of the glass.

She is completely flirting with him right now and she has no idea why. Well, it’s probably the alcohol and because flirting is fun, but this is Killian, so that makes things a bit complicated. From the way his adam’s apple is bobbing as he practically swallows his tongue, he doesn’t seem to be entirely averse to the idea.

Before she gets too caught up in that thought she downs the whiskey with closed eyes, feeling the tendrils of the alcohol fill her limbs as heat from an entirely different source creeps up along her neck and deep down between her legs.

Those same familiar fingers, the ones that had helped remove her jacket and had pulled her through the thick crowds at each bar, they are suddenly covering hers on the empty shot glass she’s still holding against her lips. Opening her eyes she sees Killian leaning towards her, just slightly, his gaze moving all over her face as if he’s seeing her for the very first time.

“Hey sexy, can I take you up on that offer?”

The interruption is like a record scratch, in the form of a little black dress and long red hair, and the curve of a hip attempting to fill the limited space between her and Killian. Emma makes a quick decision, one she doesn’t really give herself the chance to regret.

“This one’s taken.”

Killian’s stupid green shirt ends up balled in her fist as she drags him towards her mouth, her lips catching his surprise in a hard kiss. He doesn’t give her a second to pull back though, dropping his hand from hers still clutching the shot glass so he can grip her neck, holding her close as he angles his mouth and slides his tongue along the seam of her lips. She wants to know how he tastes with an urgency that hits her like a freight train. This isn’t something she ever imagined, not really, _not often_ , but now that it’s happening she’s damn sure she isn’t ready for it to stop.

Fisting his shirt a bit harder, she pushes to her feet, missing the contact of his lips immediately. His groan of protest is way louder than it should be considering their surroundings, but she merely grabs her jacket and some cash from her back pocket which she slams on the bar, before dragging her best friend by the shirt through the crowd toward the door. They barely make it five steps around the corner when she stops, turns, lets go of his shirt and leans back against the cool brick exterior of the pub. He’s out of breath, chest heaving and eyes a bit wild and she feels much the same, aroused, slightly confused and did she mention aroused?

He steps towards her, one hand coming up to rest beside her head on the wall as he reaches out with the other, his thumb tracing her swollen bottom lip with a feather-soft touch. It’s so tender and sweet that she feels her heart melt into a puddle at her feet, a confusing but not entirely unwelcome turn of events. His eyes are fixed to hers, his brain undoubtedly full of questions and thoughts that she can only assume mirror the same ones playing a pretty crazy game of racquetball in hers.

She’s never been good at talking things through, action her go-to in times of uncertainty, just hoping things will either feel right or not, giving her clarity as to her next move.

“Killian, kiss me.”

His eyebrows shoot up and his thumb slips to the slight cleft in her chin. Anticipation sets her belly on a roller coaster as he steps closer, his leg coming between hers as he dips his head until his lips are just an inch away.

“But you’re not Irish, love.”

She tips her head up, letting her lips ghost against his as she speaks.

“Neither are you.”

He kisses her then, using the slight pressure of his thumb on her chin to open her mouth for his tongue, which she immediately welcomes with an audible groan. She finally knows his taste, currently whiskey and pretzels, but something else, too - something that has her hands reaching for his neck and pulling him closer. His hand leaves the wall by her head to wrap around her waist, urging her forward against his thigh pressing harder between her legs. It’s a lot, and she’s feeling a bit dizzy, but she’s getting that clarity she’d been hoping for. Whatever this is, be it two friends just enjoying a crazy moment or something more, it feels right. And good, it feels fucking good.

Pushing her hips forward with intent, she turns her fingers until the tips of her short fingernails are pressing lightly against Killian’s scalp, drawing a sharp breath from his lips as he breaks the kiss.

“Remember what I said about that shirt before we left your apartment?”

His hand at her waist slips just a bit beneath the back of her jeans, his warm palm sliding against the satiny green underwear she’d put on as a secret little joke.

“Aye, Swan, something about…”

“You being guaranteed to get lucky.”

His palm squeezes her ass and she drops a hand to his chest, giving him a slight push so she can slip out of his grasp (slightly difficult with his hand down the back of her pants). She’s got her fingers between her lips wolf-whistling for a cab by the time he catches up with her at the curb.

“Emma?”

A yellow taxi screeches to a halt and she has to practically drag Killian inside of it, which makes her laugh so hard her stomach starts to hurt. He has to give the cab driver his address while she clutches at her belly, thankful to hear Killian’s own deep chuckle join her on the other side of the cab. As she finally catches her breath, she turns her head towards him on the cracked vinyl seat, meeting his smile with one of her own. When he reaches for her hand, she lets him take it, and they just look at each other like this for the few blocks it takes the cab to pull up outside of Killian’s building. It’s not awkward, not at all, which should be surprising, but isn’t.

But Killian still stops her with a tug of her hand before they go inside, with a serious look and a tight clench of his jaw.

“Emma, is this a good idea?”

“I have no idea, but it doesn’t feel like a bad one. Does it to you?”

“Absolutely nothing about kissing you has felt bad, quite the opposite, love.”

She gives his hand a gentle tug, bringing him close enough to lift on her toes a bit and press a soft kiss to his lips.

“Good.”

That’s it. That’s all she says and it must be all he needed to hear, because in no time at all she’s up against the back of his bedroom door with his hand between her legs, his tongue mimicking the movement of his fingers as she pants against his mouth. She wonders why they waited so long to do this when he drops to his knees, mumbling something about how much he loves her Irish spirit when he tugs the green fabric to the side with his teeth and brings her the rest of the way with his tongue.

With legs still shaky from her orgasm she pushes him towards the bed, kicking her jeans off as she lifts her shirt over her head. He goes to do the same, but she shakes her head no.

“That shirt stays on.”

His huge laugh has his head falling back and she takes advantage of his distraction, her hands moving to work his belt open so she can get to the zipper of his jeans. A fuzzy, comfortable feeling settles deep inside as his hands cover hers, both of them working together to work his jeans down his hips as his lips drop kisses at the corner of her mouth and along her jaw. When her hands close over him beneath his boxer briefs his teeth scrape against her skin, his mouth coming unhinged and eyes falling closed as she acquaints herself with the feel of him with her palm.  

He has to beg her to stop, but she doesn’t catch it as she’s too enthralled watching his face as passion overtakes him. It’s only when she feels his hand at her wrist does she finally let go. He’s flushed and slightly uncoordinated, but he somehow manages to free himself from his pants and dig for his wallet as she slides back on his mattress, anticipation and nerves causing her fingers to tremble as she reaches behind her back to unhook her bra.

“Fuck…”

Looking up, she sees Killian’s hungry stare as he takes in her now completely naked body, the foil wrapper in his hand crumpling as he balls his hand into a fist. She wants to squirm at the intense scrutiny, but he doesn’t give her time. The condom falls to the bed by her hip as he crawls between her legs, lips and stubble working up along the seam of her thigh and over her belly towards her breast. The bottom of his t-shirt collects some of the wetness between her legs as his mouth closes over one of her nipples and begins a mind-numbing torture with his tongue, sending her hips up and off the bed towards him.

“Fuck!”

He releases her nipple with an audible wet pop and he meets her eyes with a knowing smirk.

“That’s what I said.”

“You wanna get on with it?”

Apparently he does. Sitting back on his knees, he makes quick work of getting the condom on and widens her hips with his hands, all the while keeping his eyes locked to hers in a way that makes her feel safe and wanted and _oh fuck…_

Her eyes flutter closed for a moment as his fingers delve into the heat between her legs, moving deep inside, touching her everywhere he can reach.

“Emma…”

Focusing back on him again she watches as he takes those same fingers and slides them over his cock, using her arousal to coat his length. He leans forward then, finally aligning himself at her entrance as she grabs a fistful of his shirt to drag him towards her mouth. His lips are trembling slightly against hers as she welcomes him inside, her hips falling open even further as the full weight of his body presses her down into the mattress with a satisfied groan. Wanting so many things at once, she lifts her hips up and begins to pull at the bottom of his shirt, needing him to move and remove the damn cotton from letting her feel his chest against her breasts at the same time.

He isn’t helping, with the shirt anyway, instead following her other instruction to move and is currently stealing her breath as his hips pump fast and deep. She bites his lip as he hits that spot deep inside, and he groans, his hand at her hip holding her steady so he can do it again. It’s more than she can take and she abandons his shirt, leaving it bunched up beneath his underarms so she can grab at his ass and encourage him to keep moving.

They don’t really know each other’s rhythms yet, but it doesn’t seem to matter, not with his mouth panting endearments against her lips with increasing urgency to match the snapping of his hips. Giving his ass a squeeze, she quiets his now smiling mouth with a kiss, seeking his tongue as she feels her orgasm begin to crest. Hands smooth up his back as he works her through it, sweat coating her palm until she has his hair between her fingers and she’s crying out into his mouth. His hips continue to move until she feels him tense, his mouth lifting from hers as he bites down on his bottom lip and his hand clenches hard at her hip as he comes. She gives his head a shake with his hands and his eyes pop open, wild and raw as he pulses deep and she crosses her ankles to hold him inside.

They just stare at each other for a good minute, not in embarrassment or confusion (at least not for her) but a bit of awe and a whole lot of hell yeah. He breaks first, releasing her hip so he can shift them to their sides, finally wrenching his shirt over his head so he can ball the tied-off condom in it and toss it off the side of the bed. The whole time, he’d kept one leg wound around hers and just the simple affection of that, it was the perfect thing for him to do. So when he settles back beside and reaches for her her hand, she gives it willingly, flushing slightly as he brings her fingers to his lips and kisses each of her knuckles.

“So, not upset you left with me instead of the lumberjack?”

He stops kissing her knuckles for a moment and cocks his head, quirking his lips as if he’s actually thinking over her ridiculous question.

“Aye, I’m quite happy with the pot of gold I found at the end of your rainbow.”

“Killian, that is by far the stupidest thing you have ever said.”

His fingers find the hair at her temple and gently brush it back away from her face, his eyes now alight with amusement as he tugs her closer with his leg around her knee.

“Oh, I’m sure I can top that before too long, Swan.”

Working her arm between their bodies, she takes that moment to drag her palm from his belly through his happy trail and up to his chest, finally get a good feel of what had been hiding under that stupid shirt. Giving a gentle push, she rolls him onto his back and slides herself over his body, welcoming the flurry of renewed desire as his hands find hers and hold them on either side of his head. Lowering her head, she nips once, twice and a third time at his lips.

“I guess I’ll just need to make sure your mouth is otherwise occupied, then.”

And she does. All night. And maybe once again the next morning.

Next year, they stay home, no shirt ( _or any other clothes_ ) needed for them both to get lucky.


End file.
